


Cage Me Like An Animal

by vlka_fenryka



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Femslash, Roof Sex, Tracer's lack of a self preservation instinct once again getting her into trouble, bottom!Tracer, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8312077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlka_fenryka/pseuds/vlka_fenryka
Summary: Tracer hits a low point following Mondatta's assassination and goes out for a few drinks to help her forget for a night, Widowmaker spots her stumbling home and makes the decision to observe her nemesis from afar...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, so here we are...decided to finally get my lazy gay ass off the PS4 and write some fic. Obviously there will be explicit content below, but also some mention of alcohol (as the summary kinda implies) so I just wanted to give anyone a heads up who may not want to read about that sort of thing (I don't linger on details, but it does play an integral part in getting the story off the ground). Translations for the lines in French are in the bottom Notes
> 
> I had originally intended for this to be a quick, light one-shot with more emphasis on humor (and smut, of course) but somewhere along the way I tripped and smacked my head on the keyboard and a bunch of angsty shit popped up on the screen instead...couldn't be helped I'm afraid...terrible shame...but hey, maybe next time! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, comments and kudos are always appreciated and can be redeemed for a free cookie with your name on it at a later date of your choosing (I swear that's not meant to be a bribe...but seriously they have chocolate chips)

Lena Oxton was not an alcoholic. She wasn’t particularly inclined towards excessive substance consumption of any form to be quite honest. After Overwatch had been disbanded she had heard tell of too many good agents mourning the loss for nights on end in bars, spending inglorious mornings trying desperately to hold their physical constitutions together, and she swore she would never let her own grief drive her to that point. But every now and then, the temptation to just loosen up the straps of the ol’ accelerator with a couple of drinks in a local pub won out. So there she found herself, standing on the street corner across from The Grand Chariot Pub, shrugging deeper into a dark red jacket intentionally purchased a few sizes too big so as to allow her to zip it up over her accelerator. Lena wasn’t ashamed of her past as an Overwatch agent, far from it in fact, but tonight she wasn’t in the mood to draw any crowds of admirers or tourists looking to take a quick photo with the “legendary Tracer”. She scoffed to herself at the last thought and shook her head,

“Some bloody legend…”

Lena scuffed at the sidewalk pavement with her sneaker as she stood waiting at the crosswalk with a small group of people, most of whom appeared to be haggard looking office workers just trying to get home for the evening. One young woman stood slightly ahead of her, holding the hand of a wide eyed little girl in an adorable green jumper, as the child gazed around at the passing cars and the crowd around her with an innocent childlike wonder. As her eyes passed over Lena’s withdrawn form, the little girl’s attention caught on the muted blue glow of the chronal accelerator shining through the unzipped V of the jacket and she began to giggle excitedly at her discovery. With a gasp Lena snapped out of her reverie and quickly fumbled with the zipper, pulling it up the rest of the way just as the girl’s tugging finally pulled her mother’s attention away from the flashing “DO NOT WALK” sign across the street.

The woman looked over at Lena, who held her breath as she fervently whispered to herself “please no, I’m jus’ another person, nothing to see here please turn back round..” Not even daring to glance down at her neckline to see if the glow was still visible, lest she draw more unwanted attention to it. The woman looked at her for a fraction of a second longer and Lena turned to look desperately at the traffic light, now turning yellow in the other direction, and prayed that it would turn red soon so that she could put some distance between herself and the woman’s questioning looks. Just as the young woman seemed to lose interest in trying to answer the question of what her child had been so enraptured with, Lena’s silent prayers were answered and with a quick sigh of relief and a hastily muttered “Scuse me!” she rushed forward to cross the street ahead of the pair.

Upon reaching the other side, the young pilot allowed her rapid pace that was probably more of a blend of a jog and a walk to slow, and she jammed her hands into the wool lined pockets of the jacket as she took up a more casual stride down the road towards the soft glowing sign of the pub. Stopping off to one side about half way to her destination, she knelt down on the pavement and unlaced her sneaker, tying it back up as she quickly glanced up in the direction she had just traveled to make sure the woman and the little girl weren’t still following her. She caught a glimpse of the green jumper disappearing into the entrance of a restaurant three doors down and Lena sighed in relief, blinking her eyes a few times and shaking her head again as she rose and continued on her way.

She could see that the pub was only moderately crowded as she looked through the large multi-paned front window next to the door. More people than you’d probably find at the start of the week or during the work day, but fewer than would inevitably file in over the weekend, in search of somewhere to unwind from the daily stresses of the week. The city as a whole seemed figuratively (if not literally, it was London after all) overcast, and almost any establishment that had a television was fixed on any one of the various news stations. Whether the network was local or international however mattered little, as the only story any of the stations were covering this week was the recent assassination of beloved Shambali leader, Tekhartha Mondatta.

Lena could barely stand to venture from her flat for the first few days after the attack, blaring television screens seemingly confronting her on all sides with footage of Mondatta’s body falling to the ground in front of a crowd of horrified admirers. No matter how hard she tried, it was as if she was witness to a brutal car crash playing out in front of her over and over and over again, and Lena couldn’t bring herself to look away. Each time, her eyes always inevitably zeroed in on the unmistakable bullet hole punched through the back of the omnic monk’s head as his form collapsed. The image had seared itself into her brain until every time she closed her eyes it was as if someone rewound the footage within her mind’s eye, and so this torment continued for days and nights on end. She hadn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep at a time since that terrible night; it had been almost a week now. As she had laced up her sneakers and donned her jacket before leaving her flat, Lena told herself that all she wanted was just one night to forget. A few shots of something strong would help ensure a dreamless night, and then maybe she’d finally be able to move forward again, go back to being Tracer the eternal optimist and unwavering fighter of the good fight.

As she pulled open the large mahogany door, barely a single patron turned their head. That was one of the reasons she always loved The Grand Chariot, it was a small pub lacking the social atmosphere of many of the larger, more popular, taverns in London. Most of the regulars came here to get away from the outside world and there seemed to be a standing agreement that when you came into the Chariot, no one was going to bother you. Lena braced herself momentarily before glancing up at the dual television screens mounted above the bar (because honestly, if staying here meant drinking directly beneath those horrible news broadcasts, she figured she may as well just leave and ask the nice bloke working security at her apartment complex to bash her a good one over the head and have done with the whole bloody evening).

She exhaled in relief however to see that the bartender, a surly, broad shouldered Irishman by the name of Bruce, had the football game on both screens. Lena strode over to take a seat at one of the worn vinyl topped stools at the end of the bar, angling herself slightly out of habit so that most of her back and left shoulder were facing the wall, leaving her with a clear enough view of the street through the front window and with a straight shot to the exit at all times. Lena didn’t think of it as being paranoid, just having a healthy respect for the fact that as a former agent of a global peacekeeping organization she had made more than a few enemies, and for as much as she liked to believe she was safe here around her old stomping grounds, recent experiences had made her question if it wasn’t more likely the reverse. 

As the TV nearest her changed to a commercial, she saw her chance to get Bruce’s attention and quickly rapped three times on the polished wood of the bar, raising her hand in a familiar two fingered salute when Bruce looked over at the noise.

“Hey kid, yer lookin’ a bit worse for wear since I last saw you” he grunted at her as he approached, keeping his voice down so as to avoid drawing the interest of any of the other patrons seated at the bar.

He needn’t have bothered, the closest man to where Lena was sitting was over halfway to the other side of the bar, arguing heatedly with a man seated to his right about whether the referee in the football game was calling everything accurately, and a group of 3 women stood in the corner by the far right end of the bar trying to pick out a song to play on the “retro style” jukebox, but Lena appreciated Bruce’s discretion as she always did. 

“Mate, d’you even remember when you last saw me in here? M’pretty sure my hair was pink at that point” 

“Huh..thought you looked different, I don’t keep up on all the latest fashion trends as ye could probably tell. So what can I get for ye this evenin?”

Straight to the point, good ol’ Bruce. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a folded stack of bills, “Jus keep em comin for me would you big guy? I’ll let you know when it’s enough”. Bruce raised an eyebrow at that and hesitated before reaching over the take the money, counting it up and looking back up at Lena with what was perhaps a bit of concern in his dark green eyes. The look that met his gaze was one of thinly veiled desperation trying to pass itself off as adamancy, it was the look of someone who would tell the whole world they were fine with such bravado, yet would crumble the moment someone tried to probe a bit deeper. As a bartender, Bruce was no stranger to patrons trying to save face, so he swallowed his questions and concerns and nodded just once.

He could almost see the tension leaving Lena’s shoulders as she realized he wasn’t going to launch any further inquiries and for a brief moment, he thought he could see a flash of gratitude in her brown eyes. Bruce reached under the bar then and placed a single shot glass face up on the polished mahogany surface in front of her. Lena nodded in the direction of a bottle of Irish whiskey on one of the shelves behind the bar, and shook her head in preparation. “Jus’ one night, I jus’ need one night to forget” she whispered to herself. Pretending he didn’t hear her, Bruce uncapped the bottle and began to pour the first shot. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

The night sky mirrored the atmosphere of the city, dark, overcast and (poignantly enough) missing the comforting light of one of its brightest fixtures. Not that the downtown hub itself wasn’t in an almost constant state of illumination thanks to the multitude of neon light fixtures and the glow of LCD screens, but the lack of additional lighting from above was hardly an opportunity that Widowmaker intended to take for granted. Following the completion of her mission in Kings Row almost one week prior, Talon had debriefed her at their closest base of operations in Wales, and she was informed that her next mission would not be taking place for at least a fortnight. With Mondatta’s assassination, Talon intended to take full advantage of the chaos and ensure that the chips of global governments would fall into place according to their plans. Widowmaker had played the most crucial role in setting up the playing field, however their next moves relied on agents who could manipulate world leaders from within their own cabinets and board rooms.

The notion of “down time” for Widowmaker seemed utterly absurd and contrary to her purpose as a weapon of Talon. Most of the time if she did not have a next mission to prepare for, she would instead spend it honing her skills in the various training facilities that each Talon base contained. On rare occasions however, after a particularly excellent kill, Widowmaker allowed herself a different kind of indulgence. As one of their most successful operatives, Talon leadership felt little need to restrict her movements to and from the base. Even if Widow’s Kiss had not been outfitted with tracking technology, the subdermal tracking device implanted within her wrist reported back details on her location, as they did for all Talon agents, to ensure that they never lost control of their assets. Talon’s objectives were her objectives, and her mental reconditioning was designed so that this would remain as the core foundation of all that the Widowmaker was. 

The first time that she had submitted the formal request to travel from the base, a small guard detail were sent to accompany her. Talon had assured her that this was for her own safety, however she knew their lie for what it was almost instantly, her “guards” were undoubtedly bearing orders to put her down should she try to run or take any actions that would be counterproductive to Talon’s goals. It was only logical, and she felt no hints of chagrin as she had boarded the flyer alongside the two stoic and helmeted agents. If they had been expecting action while trailing the infamous Widowmaker however they were undoubtedly disappointed. The plane’s destination had been roughly 10 miles outside the city limits of Montreal, the site of her most recent kill at the time, and after trekking closer to the city Widowmaker had found herself a relatively comfortable perch on top of a radio tower, and there she had remained until the first soft rays of sunlight began to appear over the horizon.

The two guards were dumbfounded as she scaled down the tower and curtly addressed them for the first time since they had landed, “I am returning to the helicopter, radio the pilot and tell them to set a course back to base”. After one or two more of these strange, silent ventures, Talon decided there was no point in wasting the resources to send along the armed guards. Widowmaker refused to discuss her reasons for returning to former killing grounds, however she always maintained cover and stayed a safe distance from the actual scene of the assassinations so as to avoid drawing further media attention. As far as the Talon commanding officers were concerned whatever she got out of it mattered little; as long as she returned within 48 hours of her next assigned mission for briefing, the enigmatic sniper could have her little “vacations”. 

Widowmaker barely noticed the absence of her guards, as she had barely noticed their presence on prior travels; she was here with only one goal in mind and whether she was alone or surrounded by other Talon agents, the trip was always inevitably worth it. Talon’s reconditioning had left her seemingly devoid of all emotions, she experienced no desires of her own, no dreams or personal goals outside of her mission parameters. Had she been pressed to name a single thing she wanted for herself, Widowmaker doubted she could provide an answer.

She was a tool of Talon, and nothing more, or at least that is what she was told, over and over and over again until the mantra did not require repetition from her commanding officers, it was an omnipresent facet of her mind…with only one exception. At the moment of a kill, Widowmaker felt an intoxicating rush of exhilaration and pride, pride felt not as a tool, but as a living, breathing human being at the peak of her skillset. In the hours afterwards, when the waves of long forgotten emotion had faded once more into the shadows, she could hardly recall why it had felt so good, or what thoughts had crossed her mind at that moment of triumph. All that remained was a faint imprint, one that would fade as the days passed and the memory of feeling became once again buried by her conditioning.

“You are a weapon of Talon. A weapon has no past, no future, and serves only the purposes of those who wield it.”

Sometimes the feeling would fade within the hour, minor kills of nameless enemy soldiers or civilians rarely inspired the kind of sensation worth lingering upon, however a kill such as this one, a beloved public icon whose death she had personally fought to achieve? That night she had truly felt what it meant to be alive, and try as she might to put it from her mind with training, she couldn’t let the feeling fade entirely without savoring what was left of it one last time.

24 hours ago she had boarded one of the Talon helicopters with the intent of returning to the fringes of Kings Row, hoping some remnant of her victory still remained there on the wind for her to take in. The entire district however has been locked down with a high law enforcement presence ever since the assassination. Tensions between humans and omnics had always run high in the cobblestoned district just outside of London, and the emotional fallout with no clear answer as to who was responsible for the fall of the beloved monk had led many to take to the streets in violent protest, which in turn sparked equally violent counter protests from anti-omnic groups.

There was no chance of her getting any closer to the district without risking being spotted, and she did not intend to reveal Talon’s presence here by racking up a further body count. Still, she was close enough from her current vantage point in downtown London that she was certain she could achieve her goal. The news footage replaying from seemingly every television screen around the city certainly helped with that, and she chuckled darkly under her breath at the thought.

The sniper raised one gloved hand to the side of her head and activated the thermal sensors on her helmet to ensure that the surrounding rooftops were clear. Satisfied after a few moments that she was well and truly alone at this height, she deactivated the helmet’s infrared vision and stepped forward towards the edge of the rooftop from the shadows of the structure that housed the building’s stairwell. Widowmaker gazed down at the streets below her, several shops and restaurants lined the block, the former of which had been closed for a couple of hours now while the latter appeared to be in the process of cleaning up for the night.

One or two larger taverns remained open for business, undoubtedly hoping to entice some of the restaurant workers after a long day. Widowmaker languidly stretched her arms and rolled her shoulders, the helicopter ride from the Talon base in Wales certainly did her muscles no favors, and she was grateful for the opportunity to stretch her legs and survey the city proper, now that the sun had set and the crowds of London had returned to their homes.

Reaching behind her to confirm that Widow’s Kiss was securely in place, the assassin then aimed her gauntleted fist at the rooftop to her right, a bit taller than the one she was currently standing on, and launched her grappling hook. With a metallic clink the hook caught onto the mortar of the barrier surrounding the rooftop, and with a click of a button she flew across the gap and up to the top of the building. Releasing the hook, the cable retracted to her gauntlet upon her landing and without wasting any time she broke into a run and dove from the far side of the rooftop, landing on the next one over in a perfectly executed landing roll. Coming to a stop with one knee down and one hand on both sides, she activated her helmet once more to scan the tops of the other surrounding buildings. As before however, Widowmaker was alone with only the stars to observe her movements, and she deactivated the infrared sights to take up a perch on the front edge of the rooftop.

Moving away from the larger taverns had been a good choice, she mused to herself, there was less noise down at this end of the block and it appeared that all of the businesses below had already closed for the night with the exception of one small pub, where only one patron was sitting slumped at the corner of the bar while the bartender wiped down the wooden surface next to them. Turning her gaze back to the city skyline, Widowmaker could clearly make out the bright floodlights illuminating Kings Row from here. She breathed in deep, closing her eyes and taking in the crisp breeze as it blew across the rooftops, the same breeze she had felt just barely a week ago as she lined up the omnic monk through her scope.

She smirked to herself as she remembered what had immediately followed, an untimely interruption from one of Overwatch’s most annoying former agents. It had not been the first time the two had clashed over a target during one of her missions, but in their earliest encounters there had always been other agents from both sides interfering, making it difficult for her to properly focus on landing a killing shot. As time went on however, Widowmaker found that her victories always felt so much more satisfying when she had completed her mission despite Tracer’s interference.

The perky British girl added an element of surprise and made her work that much harder to achieve her goal. It gave her something to train for in between missions; knowing that she would have to try and anticipate where the next flash of blue or cheerful giggle would be coming from while she was lining up a shot ensured that Widowmaker was always improving upon her tactics. As long as her mission parameters did not specifically require the girl’s death, the sniper saw no reason to kill her yet. Though she would never admit it aloud to anyone, not even to herself, something about their fights was almost fun for Widowmaker, and as long as she could she intended to relish that feeling whenever it came about.

She opened her eyes then and her features pulled into a slight frown as she considered briefly that if the girl was not careful, she would undoubtedly find herself in Talon’s crosshairs, her crosshairs, soon enough. Overwatch may have been disbanded, but her commanders could not allow a former enemy agent to roam free if her continued existence was going to prove to be a regular threat to Talon operations. Widowmaker shook her head and closed her eyes once more, if and when she received the kill order for former Overwatch agent Tracer, she would undoubtedly fulfill her mission as she had with all of her past missions. After all, a kill was a kill, and while she enjoyed their occasional games of cat and mouse she did not have any feelings of attachment to the girl herself, only to the challenge that she posed, and there would always be more challenges.

Widowmaker was suddenly jolted from her reverie by the sound of a wooden door slamming open on the street below and she opened one eye to glance down. The sole remaining patron of the bar was shrugging off assistance from the concerned looking bartender, waving off his insistence that she wait for a bit longer so he could at least lock the place up and make sure that she got home safely. The figure in the oversized red jacket laughed at this and shook her head and she turned to make her way down the dark street, waving the bartender off with a slurred, 

“Don worry Brucey, I got thisss I promise! Not too far a walk mate nd besides it’s a beauuuutiful night”

She spun around as she dragged out the vowels in “beautiful” and Widowmaker scoffed, why fools insisted on inebriating themselves to such a state was beyond the assassin’s comprehension. The bartender seemed to consider her answer for a moment, clearly locked in a mental struggle over whether or not to trust her, but in the end he gave up with a sigh and insisted that she be careful as she traveled home.

The young woman nodded vigorously and before the bartender could say another word she spun back around and started walking down the street. Widowmaker rolled her eyes, “quelle absurdité” and just as she went to shift her gaze back to the distance Kings Row skyline, a flash of blue caught the corner of her eye, followed by a loud crash and a muffled “Oh bloody hell!” Her attention fixated immediately on the source of the noise, it appeared the girl had somehow managed to crash into a collection of trash bins by the side of the road.

What stayed her attention however was the fact that the girl had managed to crash into a group of trash cans that were located almost at the other end of the block. There was no way that she could have reached them that quickly…certainly not in her current state…but before Widowmaker could begin turning over the possible explanations in her mind, there was another flash of blue as the girl disappeared from the scene of the fall and reappeared in front of the bar with a raucous bought of laughter.

Widowmaker could hardly believe what she had just witnessed, it couldn’t be possible…could it? She quickly activated her helmet and zoomed in on the figure below, now swiping her hands up and down her jacket and making sure that none of the garbage had stayed clinging to the fabric. Her sharp intake of breath was audible as she zeroed in on the young woman’s face; even without her signature goggles and neon lycra suit, Widowmaker would know that infuriating smile and those windswept locks anywhere.

Having regained some control of her movements, Tracer once again started off down the street, stumbling occasionally and catching herself against the wall of the closest building. Widowmaker was, for the first time in a long time, unsure as to how to proceed. She had not been spotted, so she could simply remain where she was and ignore the girl’s presence below as if she had not even noticed her to begin with. After all, the sniper was almost positive that she would encounter the girl again someday on another battlefield, and at least then the former Overwatch agent would have full control of her mental faculties so as to give Widowmaker a proper fight.

She certainly didn’t care what the Brit did in her spare time, if anything she was slightly annoyed that the girl was out getting drunk when she had been so thoroughly bested in their last confrontation. This time would be far better spent improving upon her skills if she planned to present a decent challenge for the assassin the next time they fought. But still, she couldn’t deny that a small part of her was now experiencing something that she almost couldn’t recall the name of “ _Ah, curiosity_ ” she mused silently as she recalled the term.

The intel that Talon had on Lena Oxton aka. Tracer was sparing at best, a file of dates and speculated numbers that meant very little to Widowmaker. She wasn’t interested in the girl’s date of birth, parentage or childhood associates…what interested her were patterns of behavior, the things that make an enemy tick. Perhaps observing her now would provide her with some new information that she could leverage in their next battle, Widowmaker told herself as she stood and continued to follow Tracer’s progress down the street through the scope of her rifle.

She was coming up on a corner, and the sniper cursed under her breath as she realized she would need to relocate to a better position if the girl intended on taking that route. Tracer spun airily around the corner, blinking once in place to stabilize herself, and Widowmaker quickly shouldered Widow’s Kiss as she launched her grappling hook to reach the rooftop to her right. Keeping an eye on Tracer’s jacket (now retreating down the side street) as she ran, Widowmaker reached a point where she could fire a grappling hook to the building across the street and would place her parallel to Tracer’s current path. Upon landing she activated her infrared vision and looked down at the street below, the British woman’s form lit up in red as she stumbled down the dimly lit street.

Thankful that she had not lost sight of her prey, Widowmaker went to deactivate the helmet when she noticed three more infrared figures following Tracer at a bit of a distance. She switched over to night vision and zoomed in to better discern the nature of the interlopers. Three men, two of whom were armed with pistols and one with a switchblade. The trio held their weapons out and ready, laughing predatorily amongst themselves as they stepped a little faster in pursuit of their prey. It did not take a rocket scientist to deduce what the men had planned for Tracer once they caught up to her, and unfortunately the girl was still wandering along in a drunken state of bliss, completely unaware of the impending danger.

Widowmaker bit her lip in concentration as she warred with herself over her options. The young time traveler’s safety was hardly her concern, she did not feel anything in particular one way or another if she were to be attacked, after all it was her foolish lapse in judgement that had led her to this situation to begin with. However, Widowmaker had come to relish the exquisite feeling of satisfaction she experienced whenever she bested Tracer in combat during a mission, and part of her had always imagined that when it was time to put her down, Widowmaker would be the one pulling the trigger.

The thought of another Talon agent, let alone three greasy no-named low lives, getting to experience the thrill of a kill that should be rightfully hers angered her far more than she would have ever expected it to. The men had almost caught up to Tracer now as the girl approached a dark alleyway. The one with the switchblade ran forward and grabbed her arms in a hold from behind, then spun almost 90 degrees to the right as the other two pointed their guns at her so she knew not to try for a clever escape. As the man holding her started to step back into the alley, taking a struggling Tracer with him, Widowmaker knew she had only moments to make up her mind. Either intervene and save the life of one of Talon’s enemies, or allow Tracer to be killed here and now...by someone other than her. With a snarled curse in French, her decision had been made. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Just moments prior)

 

Lena had forgotten just how long it took for her to get properly drunk following the accident. Back in her RAF days, she had a reputation as a notorious light weight whenever she and her crew would go out for a celebratory round or two at the closest local pub to the base. Now, thanks to the chronal dissociation, Lena had to consume nearly twice as much as the average person to stay properly buzzed. The problem wasn’t in getting drunk, but keeping herself from blinking it away once she started getting loopy. She was always a bit… “overzealous” in the use of her accelerator even without alcohol involved. She had once spent the better part of an afternoon blinking up and down one of the hallways at Watchpoint Gibraltar in her socks after the floors had just been waxed. It had been great fun, right up until she slipped mid-blink and went flying arse up into the wall.

When alcohol was involved however, Lena ended up using her accelerator for just about anything, from blinking through a particularly nasty tasting shot, to simply blinking in place on a hiccup and then laughing so hard that she then forced a recall. Bruce had discreetly turned up the volumes on the TVs and every now and then would throw out some commentary on the match to the two gentlemen at the other end of the bar, inevitably sparking a heated debate between the two of them to keep their attention off of Lena. She was truly grateful for it; Lena was hardly one of the Irishman’s regulars, yet even after the announcement of Overwatch’s disbanding and criminalization he always went out of his way to make sure that she had some peace and quiet to herself while she was at the bar.

“Sssay Brucey..when did you get a second head there mate?” Lena slurred out as she decisively slammed her now empty shot glass down onto the bar and giggled to herself.

As the last of the laughter died down, Lena blinked straight up in the air from her seat, almost forgetting to adjust the position of her legs so that she could land properly instead of crashing back into the barstool. She caught herself at the last moment, wobbling forward and back for only a second as she used both hands on the bar to stabilize herself.

“Whew, think that jusst about does it for me big guy”

“Aye you’ve certainly done a number on my Jaymo inventory, not entirely sure what yer liver’s made of that yer not passed out on the pool table like most of my regulars would be by this point, but I figure that’s none of my business.”

“Aaaaand thas why you’re my favorite!” Lena quipped with a cheeky grin as she raised up her hand in her signature salute. Talking with Bruce, what little between them that could pass for “conversation” at least, always managed to put a genuine smile on her face. She truly did appreciate his discretion and the fact that, despite his knowledge of who she was, he never pried into her life with Overwatch was like a calm center in the storm that her life had become as of late. Her shoulders sagged with a sigh, as her mind circled back to the realization that she would have to find a way to move forward starting tomorrow morning. No more running and hiding from the past, the world still needed heroes…she suspected it needed them now more than ever.

Lena zipped forward to the door with a barely controlled burst of blue energy, and as she stepped out into the chill night air Bruce spoke up and approached the door.

“Take it easy with that zippin’ around out there Sonic. Y’know I’ll be ready to leave in another 20 minutes or so, you sure you don’ want a ride home?”

“Don worry Brucey, I got thisss I promise! Not too far a walk mate nd besides it’s a beauuuutiful night” Lena replied, spinning in place and spreading her arms wide to gesture at the peaceful, empty street. The bartender gave an unconvinced grunt, reigning in his concern as he nodded his head and turned away from the door. Lena looked back for a moment and watched as the Irishman walked back over to the bar and continued cleaning up, smiling for a moment to herself and making a mental note (that she really hoped she remembered come morning) to stop by and thank Bruce for always being there.

“Hmm maybe I should get him a gift basket or somethin’ …what sorta gift basket do ya get a surly irish bartender anyways?” she began musing aloud as she began stumbling down the street.

She hadn’t taken more than a dozen steps when Lena suddenly pitched forward, tripping on a crack in the concrete. “WHOA” she screamed and went to push herself into a recall…but instead of finding herself right side up and standing a few feet back on the sidewalk, Lena blinked forward not once, but twice…right into a collection of garbage cans. With a loud crash, some cursing and a few moments of wondering what and where that smell was coming from, Lena focused herself enough to execute a successful recall. As she reappeared back down the sidewalk where she had tripped originally, Lena doubled over with laughter, brushing down her jacket and her knees as she regained her composure.

“Now thas what I call a crash landing!” she joked to herself as she started wandering once more towards her destination, whistling a catchy tune to herself and swaying a bit with each step. The night to herself had been just what the doctor ordered…well…maybe not literally. Angela _had_ reached out to her a couple days after the assassination, and she had recommended that even if Lena wasn’t ready to speak to a professional counselor about it, she could still be there to listen if Lena just needed a friend. Maybe she would give her a call tomorrow and see about taking her up on that offer, if only to get some of her thoughts out into the open for a change instead of bouncing them off the inside of her own skull.

In the midst of her drunken wandering, Lena failed to notice three large shadows slipping out from the side alley door of one of the buildings as she passed, too wrapped up at this point in her memories to realize the very real danger she was now in.

She shoved her hands down further into her pockets as she remembered how she had rushed into battle against Widowmaker that night like it was another one of their games, both of them always vying for the upper hand and forcing the other to adapt as the rules changed around them from one second to the next. Lena had come to relish in these fights, and it certainly hadn’t escaped her notice that the French assassin always seemed to avoid a killing blow. Never so blatantly as to miss a shot directly, but she could always tell in other ways, like when the sniper lingered for just a moment longer in lining up her shot, allowing Lena to anticipate the next bullet’s trajectory so she could blink out of the way just in time. The young agent was certain that couldn’t be a coincidence, and part of her wanted to believe that maybe Widowmaker’s reluctance to kill her was a sign that she wasn’t entirely corrupted by Talon, that maybe there was something…someone…in there underneath the cold exterior that was worth saving?

 Lena sighed as she skipped over another crack in the pavement, rounding the corner and heading down a more dimly lit side street that she knew from experience would shave at least 5 minutes off the ETA back to her flat. The changed nature of their dynamic spelled out all kinds of confusion for Lena, whose well known weakness for pretty girls had gotten her into spots of trouble all throughout her air force training days. Turns out that honesty _isn’t_ the best policy when you show up late for morning drills and your CO demands to know “ _why in the bloody fucking hell does your neck look like you spent the morning getting cozy with a lamprey_ ”, who knew?

It certainly didn’t help that the assassin’s choice of outfit left almost nothing to Lena’s imagination…leaving her writing beneath her sheets and bucking against her own fingers on one too many a lonely night as her mind conjured up heated fantasies of what the other woman’s glorious curves would feel like against her skin. Made it rather difficult to focus in the middle of a firefight when the lines between “enemy” and “late-night-guilty-fantasy” kept blurring in her mind like they did. Their latest confrontation however had been like a bucket of ice water tossed in her face, bringing the reality of their situation crashing back down along with Mondatta’s body on the cobblestones. Widowmaker was dangerous, she was working for the enemy…hell she _was_ the enemy.

More so than Widowmaker, and maybe even Talon, Lena blamed herself for the omnic monk’s death, telling herself that maybe if she hadn’t been thinking with her damned hormones again then Mondatta might still be alive. And the panic inducing cherry on top of the wonderful cocktail of negative emotions that had settled in after that fight, her accelerator had been badly damaged when Widowmaker had made her escape. The housing was cracked in several places, with the blue light at the center flickering and sputtering every few moments, making her hasty trip from London to Gibraltar an incredibly stressful affair.

 “ _Definitely pays to have a genius scientist for a best mate_ ” Lena thought to herself as she reflected on the time spent catching up with Winston while he repaired the life saving device on her chest.

(5 days prior)

Overwatch had files on many of Talon’s more high profile operatives, and Widowmaker was no exception, but for all their encounters on the battlefield it occurred to Lena that she had never bothered to do a little background research on the enemy sniper. Before, she had just been another agent of Talon, albeit an incredibly sexy one with a touch of what Lena suspected was some kind of strange skin condition, but the fact that she ran with a global terrorist organization was all that Lena had thought she needed to know. After Kings Row however, Lena had far too many questions that her conscience demanded answers to, and so as soon as Winston completed his repairs, the Brit had requested a banana from the kitchen, “to get the potassium levels back up y’know?”

Winston had just sighed and turned to go fetch the young woman something to snack on, well accustomed to ignoring Lena’s playful “banana” jabs at this point in his life. As soon as she had been confident that he was out of earshot, Lena had blinked across the room to the console of Winston’s computer, quickly running a search for ‘Widowmaker’ from the root level of the file directory. “Huh? Tha’ can’t be right…” she whispered to herself as the screen refreshed with the results of her search. The file explorer window had pulled up a single archived file titled “Overwatch Personnel Files – Amelie Lacroix”. Inquisitive brown eyes darted back up to the search bar to double check that she had typed in the assassin’s call sign correctly (which she did) and then moved the cursor over to double click on the document.

“No..this can’t…wha’ the hell is this?!”

Pictured at the very top of the personnel record was none other than the infamous Widowmaker…only…she didn’t look quite so intimidating in this photograph as she did when she was firing at Lena from a distant rooftop. For one thing, her skin color wasn’t purple, and on her face was a soft yet professional smile that Lena suspected could put anyone’s heart at ease within moments.

“ _Focus mate, now’s not the time!”_ the young Brit mentally chastised herself as she scrolled down the page, devouring each line of information before quickly moving on to the next. The file spoke of Amelie Lacroix as a former member of Overwatch personnel, married to Agent Gerard Lacroix who at the time had been spearheading a highly successful series of operations against Talon. Before the campaign could be brought to completion however, Amelie had been kidnapped from the couple’s home in Marseilles. Lena continued to read on as the file listed the efforts made to locate the missing woman, and her subsequent safe return to Overwatch. Lena saw a link to what appeared to be a recording from Amelie’s medical evaluation upon her return to the nearest Overwatch base. Blinking quickly over to the door to make sure that Winston wasn’t on his way back just yet, she zipped back over to the console and dropped the volume down to where she could barely hear the words coming through the speakers.

“I apologize for the formalities Madame Lacroix, we’re just waiting on the results from a few more of these tests and then we can discharge you, I’m sure you’re anxious to see your husband again after an ordeal like that”

“Oui, I’m very much looking forward to seeing Gerard again, every moment apart has been nothing short of torturous”

“And just to verify your statement, the entire time you were captured Talon made no demands of you, didn’t try to ply you for information?”

“Non monsieur…it was as if I was already a dead woman to them.”

Lena shivered as she paused the recording; she would recognize that cold, emotionless tone anywhere…  
  
As she scrolled down the page and continued reading, the condensing ball of confusion and shock in the pit of her stomach turned to abject horror as she read the details of Gerard’s death and Amelie’s disappearance…only to return some months later as The Widowmaker. Lena very nearly cried out in alarm as the sound of Winston opening one of the outer hall doors jolted her attention from the screen. With a shaking hand she quickly closed out of the open files and zipped back over to the table that she had been lying on while Winston repaired the damage to the accelerator. Lena sat on her hands to hide the quivering of her muscles and started bouncing her foot to try and return herself to a state of external calm, her breathing just starting to regulate as Winston ducked through the door frame holding a plate with a peanut butter and banana sandwich with a glass of milk.

“I’m afraid we don’t have a great deal of variation with provisions these days, getting to the grocery store is a bit difficult for me to manage considering…uh…w-well my work schedule” he stuttered out as he placed the plate and the glass next to Lena on the table. “Lena is there something wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost”

“N-nope! Not at all big guy, just a bit anxious to get back home is all. Not tha’ I don’t love getting’ to see you but uh..my rent’s up, and my landlord isn’t the most forgiving sort when it comes to late payments”

Winston raised an eyebrow and hesitated for a moment, but before he could say anything further on the subject Lena spoke up “Thanks for the sandwich mate, I’ll never say no to a bite of peanut butter and banana!” and took one large bite. As she chewed with exaggerated enthusiasm and took a big gulp of milk from the glass, Lena thought to herself that she had a lot of information to process on her flight back home…information that could change everything.

(Present day)

Lena looked down at her sneakers as she stumbled forward and down the side street, “Wonder where she even is righ’ now…doubt Talon lets their brainwashed operatives take a whole lot of vacation time…” Just then, the young pilot’s inebriated mind conjured up an image of Widowmaker lying on a beach somewhere, still wearing her signature purple catsuit and lounging underneath an oversized umbrella, and she nearly fell over again as she was overtaken by a fit of laughter. In her distraction, Lena didn’t even notice the rapidly approaching footfalls behind her until she felt a strong pair of arms wrap around her torso, trapping her arms at her sides and spinning her 90 degrees until her back was facing the opening of a dark alleyway.

“O-OI WHA-“ she barely got out before she found herself staring down the barrels of two pistols, the man behind her growled in her ear as he began to pull her into the alley “Don’ you breathe another word kitten, or I guarantee it’ll be yer last”.

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Widowmaker snarled and shot her grappling hook at one of the lower window ledges above the alley, dropping down directly behind the man with the switchblade. Aiming a swift kick to the back of his right knee, the man’s grip on Tracer faltered, and Widowmaker brought the butt of Widow’s kiss crashing down on his skull. The man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he dropped to the pavement, unconscious. Widowmaker quickly grabbed a fistful of Tracer’s jacket and yanked her to the ground as the other two men, momentarily stunned by the appearance of a purple assassin in a skintight catsuit, opened fire with their pistols.

The bullets found nothing but open air however, as Widowmaker dropped with her back on the ground and one arm crossed over to her right gauntlet. Aiming at the larger man on the right, Widowmaker’s index finger pressed down and held on a small button that launched a tranquilizer dart from a side compartment. The dart buried itself in the man’s neck and a large, burly hand clapped up to his neck, yanking out the dart with a furious yell and tossing it aside. His comrade turned momentarily to look at what had caused his partner to call out, and that was all the window that Widowmaker needed. 

She quickly aimed her gauntlet at the small man on the left and shot another dart, this one finding a home in the man’s upper arm, punching through the thin fabric of his shirt. By the time she had lowered her arm, the first man was crashing to the ground, out cold, and his partner was quickly on his way to joining him. The smaller man swayed on his feet for a second, and then tipped over backwards, falling flat on his backside, unconscious. In a city that had just been rocked by one of the most high profile sniper assassinations of this past decade, it certainly wouldn’t do for more bodies to be found with bullets through their skulls. Even just the casings of a sniper round alone could be traced back to Talon, and that was something that Widowmaker could not allow to happen.

A noise from behind her caught her attention and the sniper turned, just in time to catch a poorly aimed fist before it had the chance to make contact with her face. Instinct kicked in, and Widowmaker made use of Tracer’s momentum to throw her forwards into the brick wall of the alley. She landed a swift kick to the girl’s backside for good measure as she flew past Widowmaker with a startled cry. 

The assassin lined up her grappling hook to the rooftop above the alley, about to make her escape now that the Brit was no longer in any immediate danger, but as she felt her feet leave the ground she was blinded by a flash of blue and was launched forward into the other alley wall, bouncing off the bricks as the cable pulled her upwards. Now, however, a pair of arms were wrapped solidly around her waist and she glanced down to see the young woman clinging onto her determinedly as the grappling hook launched them both up to the rooftop. They landed in a pile of limbs and curses as Lena flailed underneath Widowmaker, trying to land a decent hit while Widowmaker tried to extricate herself from the drunk British woman

“M’not lettin you get away this time” Lena yelled as she grabbed onto Widowmaker’s ankle, “Get back here dammit!” Widowmaker yanked her foot forwards, dragging the girl across the concrete as she did, “I do so enjoy your witty one-liners cherie, but you should know better than to get yourself tangled in the spider’s web”. Widowmaker went to bring the butt of Widow’s Kiss down on Tracer’s head like she had done to the knife wielding thug, when with another flash of blue Lena wasn’t there anymore, blinking forward and taking Widowmaker with her. The city skyline flashed up before the sniper’s eyes until she was looking up at the stars, her back now on the cold concrete of the rooftop. Before she could recover however, Lena dove forward on top of her, pinning Widowmaker just as she had on the night of Mondatta’s assassination. 

Something in the girl’s movements had changed, Widowmaker noticed, her stumbling movements and slow response time had faded away and it was clear that she was somehow regaining control despite the amount of alcohol she had taken in that night. “How is that possible?” she asked, mentally kicking herself when she realized that she had spoken out loud. Tracer gave her a quizzical look and then laughed

“Whassat? Don’t tell me you Talon blokes haven’t figured out what the accelerator lets me do yet? I thought it’d be pretty obvious by now luv!”

“Non, fille naïve, you were falling all over yourself in your cups when I first spotted you, you could barely even walk down the street”

Lena’s brown eyes went wide and Widowmaker could have sworn she saw the girl blush a bit as she realized that the other woman had seen her fall earlier. “Y-you mean, bloody hell you saw that!?” she yelled, mortified. Widowmaker laughed at the girl’s obvious discomfort and embarrassment

“Oui cherie, it was rather difficult to miss the way you so gracefully crashed headfirst into the garbage like you did. If nothing else this night was worth the trouble to get to see you disgrace yourself so perfectly.”

“Oi shut it! I just had one too many is all, a couple blinks here and there and I sober up quick enough. You don’t get to bloody judge me when it’s your—“ she hesitated then, clearly thinking twice about whatever she was just about to accuse Widowmaker of, “y’know what, never mind. What are you even doing back here anyways, what does Talon want in London?” 

“ _Of course_ ” Widowmaker thought to herself “ _she can move forward through her own timeline_ ”, that certainly explained the more sober state that she currently found the young woman in. There had to be at least 5 blinks that had occurred between when she had left the bar and now, and it appears that was enough to allow the girl’s body to process the alcohol.

“You are hardly in a position to interrogate me cherie, you don’t even have your pistols with you.”

Lena grimaced at her obvious point, but made quickly took up a false mask of confidence, “So then whassat say about you luv? I’ve got you pinned again and this time I’m a bit tipsy and not even armed, I wouldn’t exactly call that braggin’ rights, can’t imagine what the rest of Talon would think!”

The small woman laughed at that and Widowmaker growled, deciding she had had enough of these foolish games. With a powerful thrust of her hips Widowmaker sent Tracer flying forwards, the girl’s hands releasing their hold on her arms to brace herself from smashing into the short barrier wall lining the rooftop. Bringing her left arm up across her chest Widowmaker slammed her elbow savagely into Lena’s ribs, throwing the girl’s slight figure from her. The British woman let out a cry of pain as she fell, dropping one hand instinctively to her ribs and struggling to catch the breath that had been knocked from her body with Widowmaker’s last strike. Now standing once more, Widowmaker took advantage of the girl’s disorientation to land a sharp kick in the Lena’s side, forcing her to roll over onto her back.

Lena opened her eyes to find herself staring down the barrel of Widow’s Kiss, the assassin staring down at her coldly as she spoke “The only reason you remain breathing at this moment is because I have allowed it, do _not_ test my patience”. Lena blinked once and raised her chin in defiance, “So then why haven’t you finished me off already? Not jus’ tonight, but any night, every night. Don’t think I haven’t noticed luv, you’re probably the best bloody sniper in the world and even in close combat you’ve come out on top more than once, so why don’t ya ever finish what you started?”

Widowmaker’s mouth opened and closed at this unexpected line of questioning, and Lena saw her opportunity to continue “You can lie to everyone else luv, your fellow agents, superiors, hell maybe even to yourself, but you can’t lie to someone who’s been playing the same bloody game as you!” Lena was all but shouting now, and her voice began to tremble ever so slightly with emotion, “A-After Mondatta’s assassination I looked into your file in our archives, I know what Talon did to you, I know who you used to be…”

Widowmaker’s eyes narrowed at that, “I am what I have always been, what I always will be, a weapon of Talon”

“Thas not true! You had a life before Talon, you were one of us Amelie!”

Widowmaker’s lip curled back into a snarl, “Do not call me that, Amelie Lacroix is dead”. Lena, however, would not be deterred, and she briefly wondered if it was the lingering effects of the whiskey giving her this kind of courage. “I don’ believe that! I may not have been able to save Mondatta…an’ if I’m bein honest I don’t know if I’ve got what it takes to save you either, I haven’t exactly been singin’ my own praises these past few days…but what kind of hero would I be if I didn’t even try!”

Widowmaker was momentarily stunned, and her mind reeled in the brazen insolence of the British girl beneath her. “Tais-toi! You speak of things you could never understand foolish girl” she spat venomously. Unaffected, Lena’s gaze locked with Widowmaker’s, and she seemed to consider the other woman’s declaration for a moment before grinning and giving the assassin a cheeky wink, “Maaaaybe, but tell me then luv, why’d you bother savin’ me earlier? Or better yet, why don’t you explain what’s stayin that trigger finger of yours now?”

Widowmaker’s jaw clenched in frustration, her anger no longer a simmering presence beneath an icy surface, but a raging inferno in the forefront of her mind. How dare this little nuisance imply that Widowmaker’s loyalty to Talon was anything less than absolute? How dare she insinuate that Widowmaker felt anything towards her other than contempt? The girl somehow knew that the sniper had been intentionally staying her hand, and she didn’t know if it made the situation better or worse that Tracer had admitted to doing the same.

This was all wrong, the night was not supposed to go this way. Widowmaker had returned to London chasing the high of a kill, chasing a moment in time where she had felt _something_ , if only for a moment, but here she was now standing over her enemy, and she was _feeling_ , and the worst part was, _she couldn’t tell whether she wanted it to stop_. Lena’s emphatic speech had brought memories unbidden to her consciousness, brief flashes of a life that was both hers and not hers, words spoken to her and to a dead woman. It felt as if she was in too many places at once, as if she was two people _at once_ , and a small part of her mind relished in the freedom at the same time that another part recoiled from it violently.

Seeing the war taking place behind the assassin’s golden eyes, Lena slowly backed up from the barrel of the rifle until her back was to the brick rooftop barrier, and inch by inch she carefully rose from her position on the concrete until she was standing once more, facing Widowmaker whose grip on Widow’s Kiss faltered momentarily, before snapping the rifle back up and aiming it at Tracer’s chest. “Not another move!” she hissed, not even realizing that she had lapsed from English to her native tongue (“Ne pas deplacer!”). Lena raised her hands in a show of placation, “Easy luv…I’m not gonna hurt you…and I think we both know you’re not gonna hurt me either…I just…need you to trust me Amelie, please…”

Suddenly, in her mind’s eye, Widowmaker was transported hundreds of miles away, to a beautiful and well cared for garden ( _Was it her garden..? Or Amelie’s?_ ), and a rich baritone voice ( _why did she know that voice?)_ reassuring and full of love addressing her, “Trust me, Amelie, they will never take me from you…”

Lena let out a small gasp as she noticed a single tear falling from Widowmaker’s eye to the concrete below, and a shaking gloved hand rose up to feel the trail of wetness left in its wake. The assassin staring in a mix of horror and awe as she pulled her hand away and saw the proof of her emotions for herself. Nothing that was happening made sense, she shouldn’t be feeling this…any of this…she was a weapon and weapons did not feel, yet here she was, shedding tears over memories she could barely grasp. And then there was Tracer, the stubborn girl’s hopeful gaze capturing her own and rooting her to the spot.

Her rifle lay pointed down at the concrete now, one hand still holding onto it while the other hung uselessly at her side. The man from Amelie’s memories…her memories…she could recall the sound of his voice but she couldn’t remember what he was to her, why did his name and his voice remain when all else had been lost? And why did she find herself feeling that same sense of reassurance, that same safety, from this British slip of a girl in front of her?

Suddenly the rooftop around her faded away again, and Widowmaker found herself standing over the corpse of a dark haired man, watching silently as blood poured from the wound in his neck and began to stain the white bed sheets crimson. “ _Gerard..”_ she thought to herself, yes…Gerard had been the sniper’s first mark, her first successful mission, hadn’t he? She grimaced in pain as Amelie’s memories and Widowmaker’s clashed within her, her mind trying to reconcile two polemically diverging views of the same human being.

Tracer spoke out then as she saw Widowmaker’s eyes darting in panic, looking anywhere but at her as she tried in vain to regain control, “Hey luv easy, easy nothing’s going to hurt you, you’re safe I promise please just ground yourself in that ok? Lissen to my voice and ground yourself right here, right now, here on this rooftop. This is where you are, not there, not anywhere else! You’re right here, with me, okay?” Widowmaker’s eyes snapped to hers and the Tracer held her gaze even as the young pilot carefully extended her arms, “I’m going to touch you ok? Just so you know this is real”. Widowmaker’s nod was barely perceptible, and Tracer smiled gently at the her, slowly raising her arms up and carefully placing them on Widowmaker’s upper arms, stroking small circles with her thumbs over the woman’s cold skin. “There, see, I told you, you’re still right here on this rooftop, still talkin’ to me”.

Widowmaker’s breathing began to regulate itself once more, and she swallowed once as she closed her eyes, shaking her head as if to clear the haze of memories she had been trapped in just moments prior. When she finally opened her eyes, the sniper found herself captivated by the warmth seeming to radiate from the girl in front of her. Tracer was looking at her with such caring and gentleness that Widowmaker found it suddenly very hard to breathe.

She became aware of the hands on her arms, of the gentle circling touch of Tracer’s thumbs on her skin, and the assassin felt a strange sensation spreading throughout her body. It felt at first like a weak and fragile spark that swiftly grew into an overpowering flame, scorching her veins and burning the words in her throat. She wasn’t sure what all of this meant for her future, whether Talon’s scientists would eventually bury everything she had just experienced beneath new layers of mental reconditioning, or if Tracer would someday succeed in her promise to “save” her. In that moment, all of her attention was focused on chasing this new sensation, and it was then that she recalled its name, _desire._

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Widowmaker dropped Widow’s Kiss to the ground at her side, the rifle clattering on the concrete as her other hand came up to the back of Lena’s head and her fingers threaded themselves through the young woman’s short brown hair. “W-Wha-?” Lena managed to sputter out before Widowmaker pulled her in and closed the gap between them, pressing her cool lips hungrily into the younger woman’s and moving her fingers possessively through the hair on the back of her head. Lena faltered only for a moment, unsure of whether or not to stop the assassin and question exactly what it was that she was playing at. She definitely preferred this outcome to being shot that’s for sure, and it wasn’t as if a scenario just like this one hadn’t crossed her mind once or twice…okay so maybe more than once or twice. Just as the young pilot made up her mind to stop Widowmaker and make sure that this is what she wanted, Lena felt the French assassin’s tongue tracing her lower lip, not so much asking permission as declaring her intent, and she let out an embarrassingly needy whimper.

“ _Bloody hell…aw screw it, we can sort this out later_ ” the pilot thought to herself as she opened her mouth with a moan, meeting Widowmaker’s tongue with hers and wasting no time stroking along the cool muscle to coax an answering groan from the other woman. Lena ran her hands up Widowmaker’s arms until she was able to feel the smooth expanse of the assassin’s back beneath her fingertips, digging her digits into the exposed skin as Widowmaker’s other hand came up to grasp her ass. The sniper pulled Lena’s hips flush against her own, grinding against the younger woman and growling into the kiss.

Lena was the first to break the kiss, panting as her mind reeled from the overwhelming need for more of Widowmaker’s lips…hands…skin on her own. She barely bit back a desperate moan as the assassin’s lips traced down her neck, leaving small bites over the heated flesh in her wake. Lena was certain she would be wearing the marks of this evening come tomorrow, but she couldn’t bring herself to care as each new bite that Widowmaker then teased with her tongue brought a flash of pleasure coursing through her body, settling into her core and making her almost painfully aware of how wet she already was. “Widowmaker...fuck” she breathed, urging the assassin on as one of her hands dropped from the woman’s shoulder blades to grasp her ass through the purple spandex of her suit. Widowmaker chuckled darkly and spoke into the skin of Lena’s neck, “Oui cherie, that was the idea, now move” she commanded as she stood back up, grabbing the collar of the British woman’s jacket and shoving her into the shadow of the stairwell housing until Lena’s back met the brick wall.

“Oi, watch the jacket luv it’s one of my favorite-Ohhhh, fuckin hell”

Lena’s protest died in her throat, twisting into a breathless cry as Widowmaker brought her thigh in between the British woman’s legs. The sniper began to slowly but forcefully roll her hips forward, each thrust bringing an achingly delicious burst of pleasure straight to Lena’s center as the taller woman’s thigh muscle pressed against her clit with every single pass.

“I want to hear you beg for me cherie, give your body over to me entirely, make me feel alive” Widowmaker growled as she began to unzip Lena’s jacket, kissing and nipping at each new inch of skin revealed to her until the sniper was finally able to push the red material from the girl’s shoulders, the jacket pooling on the ground by their feet. Underneath, Lena had been wearing little more than a white sleeveless top with her chronal accelerator strapped over it, the harness for the device seating it firmly between her breasts.

At the loss of her jacket, Lena glanced down momentarily in fear, unsure of whether or not Widowmaker knew not to try removing the harness itself in the midst her passionate assault. The assassin met her gaze and nodded only once in understanding, bringing her right hand up to Lena’s mouth while her left pinned the girl’s arms above her head, holding her in place against the wall.

“Remove my glove, cherie” the sniper commanded in a tone that brooked for no discussion, looking down at her with eyes hooded in desire. “Oh…bloody hell…” Lena mentally whimpered. Panting with unveiled anticipation, she closed her eyes and delicately leaned forward to grasp at the fabric of Widowmaker’s glove with her teeth, making sure that she didn’t pinch at skin before she began to pull back, slowly removing the leather glove from the French assassin’s cold hand.  

Widowmaker pulled her hand away as more and more of the fabric folded up, until at last the glove had been completely removed and hung dangling from Lena’s mouth. The sniper’s now bare hand reached through the arm hole of Lena’s shirt and cupped one of her breasts before she had even dropped the glove. As the sniper’s cool thumb and index finger traced circles around her nipple, occasionally pinching at the smooth flesh, Lena’s strangled gasp turned into a desperate whimper and the leather glove fell from her mouth to the concrete alongside her discarded jacket.

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Widowmaker found herself utterly enraptured by every single reaction that her movements coaxed from the woman beneath her. It was a high unlike anything she had ever experienced while on a mission, and she found that with each passing moment she only craved it more. She wanted to possess Tracer utterly, she wanted to burn herself into the young woman’s consciousness like Tracer had burned herself into Widowmaker’s.

Part of her knew that this would change everything, there could be no going back to their old games of cat and mouse after tonight. They would either kill each other, or be consumed in each other, and Widowmaker wasn’t sure which outcome she wanted more. Tracer’s movements grew more frantic beneath her, the girl’s hips thrusting erratically forward as she urged herself onwards towards her climax, and Widowmaker snarled as she moved her hip forward and dropped her right hand to grip at the girl’s side, pinning Tracer against the wall and preventing her from continuing.

“No.…fuck…please…” she groaned in frustration, her body shaking with need as her huge brown eyes met Widowmaker’s, silently pleading with her for release. “Non mon cherie, I’m not finished with you yet” the assassin smirked as she shifted the material of Lena’s shirt to one side with her teeth, exposing her breast to the chill London air.

“Don’t be cruel luv please…ohhh god yesss…” the British woman moaned as Widowmaker’s mouth finally sealed over a hardened nipple, laving the soft tender bud with a chilled tongue and teasing with small nips of her teeth. Widowmaker paused in her ministrations for only a moment as she laughed and gripped the younger woman’s hips tighter, “Oh, but it’s so hard to play nice when you beg so eagerly for my touch cherie. I’m afraid I can’t get enough of you”.

Tracer moaned loudly at that, arching her back so as to present herself more effectively for Widowmaker’s attention, yet all the while making no attempt to break her hands free from the hold that Widowmaker maintained on her wrists. Like the former Overwatch agent had said, they could lie to everyone else, but here in this moment, Tracer’s body couldn’t lie to Widowmaker; the young woman was exactly where she wanted to be. Returning her attention eagerly to Tracer’s breast, the hand that Widowmaker had been using to pin the girl’s hip skimmed a path over to the button of her jeans and began to unzip her pants as the pilot’s breath hitched in anticipation.

Widowmaker’s free hand rose up to grasp Tracer’s chin firmly, forcing the young woman’s eyes to focus directly on the authoritative golden orbs in front of her “I am going to release your wrists now cherie, but I do not want to see your hands move a single inch from the position I have placed them in. Do you understand?”

Lena nodded almost immediately, and Widowmaker chuckled at the irony that in this particular situation, obedience seemed to come naturally to the normally stubborn young woman. Satisfied that her orders would be obeyed, Widowmaker released her grip on Tracer’s wrists, the girl still holding them crossed above her head as if bound just as she had been told to. “Now then, I believe you are still wearing far too many layers ma petite gêne” the assassin whispered into her ear, dropping to her knees in the next instant and ripping Tracer’s jeans and boxers down to her ankles as she did. The British woman’s face flushed red as Widowmaker stared at her now bare lower half, writhing for only a moment against the cold brick wall. 

The silence only lasted for a moment, then the pilot gave Widowmaker what she must have estimated was her most winning grin and quipped “See anythin’ you like down there luv?” The young pilot threw in a wink for good measure, testing the bonds of her situation. Widowmaker’s eyes narrowed and snapped back up to Tracer’s. The assassin ignored the heat that had pooled between her legs as she had stared openly at the other woman’s dripping arousal, ignored the omnipresent voice now shoved to the back of her mind telling her to kill the British woman and return to Talon for immediate reconditioning, ignored the ghostly tendrils of a dead woman’s memories of passionate nights spent entwined with a man whose voice had inspired hope in others.

Widowmaker may have been Amelie once, or she may have killed Amelie, or perhaps it was a strange mix of the two, but what she knew right now was that in this moment, with this woman, Widowmaker felt _alive_ once more. That same feeling that Amelie had had for the man in the garden was what Widowmaker felt resonating through her being as she had first pressed her lips on Tracer’s and felt the British woman’s rapidly beating heart beneath her own. 

“Cherie…” she whispered, staring up at the young woman as her gaze softened in a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability. The grin vanished from Tracer’s face and was replaced by a soft “o” of awe. The younger woman’s voice trembled as she spoke “G-god, you’re so beautiful”.

Widowmaker shivered as she brought her lips forward to place a soft kiss just above Tracer’s clit, and the pilot whimpered her name with such desperation that the assassin found herself burning all over again, needing to hear more of the girl’s cries, needing to hear her name falling from Tracer’s lips as she reached the height of her pleasure. She looked back up at Tracer then, the fire in her expression conveying her intent without words and the young woman nodded quickly with a whispered “Please…”

Widowmaker once more gripped the girl’s hip with her left hand, bracing her, as she growled back up at Tracer “You are _mine_ ”, and plunged two fingers into the young woman’s burning heat. “OH FUCK ME YES” Tracer screamed, moaning as Widowmaker curled her fingers against her sensitive front wall with every retraction, plunging back inside over and over while the fingers of her other hand dug into the skin of Tracer’s hip.

Widowmaker was certain she would leave bruises by the time she was done, but it certainly didn’t appear that the pain was detracting from the young woman’s pleasure in any way. She suspected it may in fact only be adding to her enjoyment, and just to test her theory she dragged her fingers down the length of the pilot’s outer thigh, leaving angry red marks even through the fabric of her remaining glove. Tracer cried out in pleasure, rocking her hips wantonly up into Widowmaker’s thrusts, and the assassin smirked as her suspicions were confirmed. She brought her lips once more to Tracer’s pussy and let her tongue dart out to flick rapidly at the younger woman’s clit. Widowmaker timed the motions of her fingers so that with every curl of her digits came a simultaneous flick of her tongue, coaxing a fresh gush of wetness into her mouth until her chin was dripping with the younger woman’s essence. Tracer’s taste was almost overwhelming to Widowmaker, undeniably sweet and utterly intoxicating, she lapped up every single drop that she could take from the British woman, and still found herself craving more.

“F-fuck..oh god…that feels so fuckin good…I-I’m close!” Tracer moaned as she glanced down at the woman between her legs. Widowmaker added a third finger and proceeded to increase the speed of her movements, slamming forward into Tracer’s pussy over and over again while her tongue danced in circles around her clit, switching to lash across the sensitive surface for a quick moment before returning to rapid circles once more. Widowmaker glanced up at Tracer and she could tell that the girl was hanging from the precipice but it appeared she still needed a little push over the edge.

Keeping up her demanding pace with her fingers, Widowmaker carefully rose and pressed her body closer to Tracer’s, pressing her thumb over the girl’s clit and using her hip to thrust against the back of her hand. She reached down with her other hand and grabbed hold of Lena’s leg, lifting it up and wrapping it around her hip so that she could reach an even deeper angle with her thrusts. As she felt the girl’s body begin to tremble all over, and her moans reached a fever pitch, Widowmaker leaned in next to Tracer’s ear and gave her one final command, “Come for me, cherie”.

She felt Tracer’s inner walls clenching tightly around her fingers, and every muscle in the girl’s body locked up as the waves of pleasure crashed over her.

“God…Widowmaker!”

The assassin smiled to herself as she breathed deep and savored her victory, burning the details of Tracer’s orgasm into her mind like she did at the moment of a kill. This however…not even a hundred kills could compare with the tempest raging within her at this exact moment. It was nothing short of perfection, and as Widowmaker slowly eased her fingers from Tracer’s clinging heat, she couldn’t help but notice that the girl’s wrists had remained crossed above her head, right where Widowmaker had told her to leave them. She carefully lowered Tracer’s leg from her hip back to the concrete rooftop so that the younger woman could stand on her own once more, neither one of them speaking just yet, content to savor the moment before the inevitable conversation they would need to have.

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Lena’s eyelids fluttered open as she finally came back down to Earth, staring at Widowmaker in unveiled awe before her features split into a massive shit-eating grin, “Guess as far as savin’ people goes I’d say I’m off to a pretty bangin’ start!” The assassin stared blankly back at her for a moment before rolling her eyes, “Merde, do you ever stop talking or must every moment be filled with some form of commentary?”

Lena just laughed in response, reaching out to touch Widowmaker’s shoulder, “Aw c’mon luv don’t be like that! We were making really good progress I thought” her expression shifted then from amusement to a thinly veiled state of lust “though maybe you could use a bit more convincing…after all you certainly seemed to be enjoying our…negotiations jus’ a moment ago, but up until now I’d say it’s been a fairly one sided conversation, wouldn’t you agree?” Widowmaker cocked her head slightly and smirked at the young woman, “Oh? I take it you have an idea in mind that you would like to bring to the table, cherie?”

Lena bent down to pull her pants back up before dropping down to her knees in front of Widowmaker, glancing up at the assassin to make sure that there wasn’t any sign of hesitance in her features before she continued. The sight that greeted her however left no doubt in the young woman’s mind that the assassin wanted this just as much as she did; Widowmaker’s pupils were dilated, her lips were parted and her normally slowed breathing had picked up so that Lena could see her breasts heaving with anticipation. Confident in her actions, she leaned forward to place hot, wet kisses along the assassin’s abdomen, leaving a trail down along the V of the other woman’s catsuit until her lips reached the junction where the two sides of fabric met.

Searching momentarily with the tip of her tongue, she edged out a zipper from beneath the clinging material and began to pull it down with her teeth, looking back up and holding Widowmaker’s intense gaze as she pulled the zipper lower and lower. Once she had her target fully exposed before her, Lena felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of Widowmaker’s glistening wetness, and she found herself needing to use every ounce of willpower she had to stop herself from wrapping her hands around the sniper’s thighs and burying her tongue in her delicious heat.

She looked up then at Widowmaker from her position down on her knees, staring with unbridled passion up at the woman who, up until just a few days ago, had been little more to her than an enemy. Lena knew that this may be her only chance to share a moment like this with Widowmaker. Recalling the way that she had witnessed the sniper’s inner struggle earlier, Lena wanted to make sure that other woman knew she was in control of the situation, that she _always_ had a choice in what happened next. Besides, it wasn’t as if Lena was making any big sacrifices by playing the submissive role in this situation (“ _oh no, Widowmaker, please don’t absolutely dominate the livin’ hell out of me and use my body for your own pleasure…anything but that!”) _

The pilot licked her lips and looked back up at Widowmaker, steadying her voice as she begged “Please…Widowmaker…let me eat you out luv, I want t’make you feel good, I want t’feel you cum”. The assassin hissed at that, baring her teeth with a sharp intake of breath, staring down at Lena with an unshackled intensity that made the girl’s heart leap in her chest. Lena kept her hands down at her sides, her entire body practically trembling with anticipation and raw desire.

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Widowmaker did not trust her own voice, couldn’t allow the young woman to hear just how emotionally vulnerable she made her feel, so her only response was a sharp nod for Tracer to proceed. Smiling then in full force, the younger woman gave her one last wink before she pressed her lips to Widowmaker’s slit, kissing gently at the hood of the assassin’s clit while her hands reached up to hold herself in place by grasping the woman’s ass and pulling her forward slightly so as to provide herself with a better angle.

Tracer dragged her tongue through the assassin’s wetness, alternating from broad strokes to more focused ones, and tremors of varying intensity rocked through Widowmaker’s body. Her thigh muscles clenched tighter on either side of Tracer’s head as the pilot’s lips closed around the small bundle of nerves and began to gently suck. “Merde…” Widowmaker whispered, one hand reaching down to grasp at Tracer’s untamed brown locks, gripping tighter and pulling the girl closer as the sniper’s hips began to rock in time with Tracer’s movements.

The other woman pulled her head back momentarily, planting sloppy kisses and small bites to Widowmaker’s inner thighs as she spoke breathlessly “God you taste so fuckin’ good, bloody can’t wait to feel you come in my mouth”. Widowmaker shivered and open her mouth to respond, but her words died in her throat and a strangled cry replaced them as Tracer’s tongue finally dipped into her entrance, her right thumb now dancing over the assassin’s clit in concise circles. Widowmaker could no longer stop herself from vocalizing her pleasure.

“Oh, mon dieu! Oui, ça y est, ne vous avisez pas arrêter!” She doubted the pilot understood enough of her native tongue to realize what she was saying, but Tracer apparently knew enough about nonverbal cues to take the hint, and she redoubled her efforts with reckless abandon, moaning against the sniper’s pussy as she thrust her tongue in and out of her dripping entrance and matched her lover’s hips thrust for thrust. Bringing Tracer to orgasm earlier had left Widowmaker far more aroused than she would have cared to admit, so when the sniper began to feel her body hurtling headlong towards that blissful moment of release, she grabbed hold of Tracer’s head with both hands and pressed the girl’s face deeper, rocking her hips forward forcefully as the pilot switched tactics again to suck on her needy clit, moaning around her when she felt Widowmaker’s muscles tighten as the assassin came undone.

Throwing her head back as she groaned in pleasure, Widowmaker’s vision went black and all thoughts fled from her mind, until nothing remained but raw sensation. As she regained her composure and opened her eyes once more, she looked down at Tracer to see the young woman eagerly lapping between her thighs at the remnants of her release, making sure she didn’t miss a single drop. The fingers that had been entangled in the girl’s messy brown hair as Widowmaker rode out her orgasm now unclenched and dropped to the sniper’s sides, and she let out a soft moan at the sensation of Tracer’s tongue as it delicately traced over sensitive flesh. She exhaled then as she felt Lena’s tongue retreating, and the younger woman’s hands came up to grasp at her thighs, circling her thumbs over the material of her suit.

“Bloody hell luv…that was even hotter than I’d imagined!”

Tracer laughed nervously, still kneeling on the concrete as she stared up at Widowmaker, her expressive brown eyes betraying her uncertainly even as she smirked at the assassin. At first Widowmaker said nothing, her golden eyes boring into Tracer’s, feeling the world threatening to fall out from under her once more. She was a weapon of Talon, she had no desires of her own, and Talon’s enemies were her enemies, but now…another voice railed in the back of her mind at her familiar mantra, fighting for control. As she focused on it, Widowmaker could hear the young woman’s words from earlier echoing within her mind, “ _Lissen to my voice and ground yourself right here, right now, here on this rooftop. This is where you are, not there, not anywhere else! You’re right here, with me, okay?”_

“W-Widowmaker..? Luv, are you alright?” The sniper jolted as Tracer’s concerned voice broke through the haze; the young woman had risen from her knees and was now standing in front of Widowmaker looking at her with a mix of genuine concern and apprehension. At a glance Widowmaker could tell that the girl was tense, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice if the assassin decided to make a move to attack. Finally, she let her shoulders relax and she raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at the British woman as she smiled and chuckled mockingly, “Oh ma petite cherie, you have been imagining this scenario often then?”

Tracer was momentarily taken aback, clearly relieved that she wasn’t about to have to make a break for her life but simultaneously mortified as she realized what she had accidentally revealed, her face turning beet red. “I-I don’t…I mean thas not what I…oh bollocks…well can you bloody well blame me I mean look at you! As if the accent wasn’t hot enough, yer outfit doesn’t exactly leave much to the imagination yknow!”

Widowmaker watched as the younger woman tripped over her sentences and offered several more sputtered excuses, before finally leaning in, and pulling her into another kiss, cutting Tracer off in the middle of her outburst. “An’ another thi-Mmph!!” This time there was no hesitation, no unfamiliarity as their lips moved softly against one another’s, just the faint glimmer of something that neither of them had anticipated…the beginnings of trust.

Tracer sighed softly against her mouth, and Widowmaker committed the sound to memory, not knowing if or when she would ever get the chance to hear it again. Her hand moved up to cup the back of Tracer’s neck, massaging the skin there with her fingers for only a moment before her index finger curled forward to press the button on the underside of her gauntlet, silently dispensing a single tranquilizer dart into her waiting palm. She broke off from the kiss then, leaving a trail with her lips over to Tracer’s ear as she whispered, “Adieu, cherie” and pricked the back of the girl’s neck with the dart.

“Ow! Wha in the bleedin’ hell are you…are… you—“ the last part of her thought was lost as she succumbed to the tranquilizer mixture, her limp frame collapsing forward into Widowmaker’s arms. Laying the girl gently down onto the concrete, Widowmaker reached down then and grabbed her glove, replacing it on her right hand before picking up Tracer’s jacket and digging one hand into the inner breast pocket, searching for some kind of indication as to where the girl lived. Even as the voice in the back of her mind demanded that she snap the girl’s neck and walk away, Widowmaker held onto the echoes of Tracer’s voice in her mind, on the sensation of her eager tongue against her skin and the explosion of sensation she had experienced just experienced. Something in her felt compelled to see the evening through to its end and ensure that her perky little quarry was safely removed from danger…at least for the time being.

If she was being honest with herself, Widowmaker did not know what tonight would mean for future encounters on the battlefield _“…or otherwise_ ” she thought as she gazed down at the unconscious woman’s peaceful features. All that she knew was that if she wanted to ensure there would be _any_ kind of future encounters with the infuriatingly trusting Brit, she would need to make sure she was returned home safely.

Widowmaker felt around until she found what she was looking for, and she pulled her hand back out holding a set of keys on a ring with a rubber boondoggle emblazoned “Kensington Apartments” with an address and telephone number for the complex underneath. The key ring only had two sets of keys, one bearing the company insignia for the UK division of Vespa (“ _Really, cherie?”)_ and the second was a simple gold key with the number 642 engraved in the center.

It didn’t take any great detective work on the sniper’s part to put two and two together, and she scooped Lena up into her arms and adjusted her so that the girl was draped over her shoulder. Widowmaker activated her helmet one last time to ensure that no one would observe their getaway into the night, but the rooftops of London remained abandoned. Deactivating her helmet, the assassin shot her grappling hook to the ledge of the building across the street and proceeded to make her way downtown, the silence only occasionally broken by Tracer’s light snores.

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Lena blinked in rapid succession as the first rays of the morning sun filtered in through the sliding glass door in her bedroom, stretching out beneath the soft white sheets and rolling over the check her alarm clock for the time. “Mm 6:00 am, thas way too early for me” she muttered to herself and went to roll back over into slumber. Just then, Lena sat bolt upright in bed as the events of the night prior came flooding back to her, “Wha the…d-did we actually…” she lifted up the covers to look down at her outfit, still wearing the same white sleeveless top and jeans she had been wearing yesterday afternoon. Her sneakers and jacket however had been removed, and as she looked across the room she could see them, her jacket hanging from a coat hook on the back of her bedroom door and her sneakers discarded by the side of her bed.

There was no way last night had been a dream…in her experience, wet dreams involving Widowmaker usually didn’t include alley brawls with shadowy assailants and tripping face first into garbage bins, but still she rolled over to get out of bed and walked quickly over to her bathroom to obtain confirmation. As Lena flicked on the light, her eyes immediately zeroed in on her neck, “Oh..bloody hell…” the pale skin was decorated with bite marks, the skin around many of them discolored with a dark a purplish hue. “Definitely not a dream then…but...then where-?”

Lena’s eyes widened as she darted out from the bathroom and glanced over into the living room, but no one was there except for her tank of fish in the corner. She swore under her breath and quickly rushed back to her room, pulling back the sliding glass door (which she couldn’t help but notice was now unlocked) and stepping out onto the balcony. Lena looked up, then down and around the sides, but there was no sign of her former enemy-now-turned-rooftop-lover…was one late night tryst enough to call her a _former_ enemy? She decided to table the question for now, she had already managed to blink away what had promised to be a hellish hangover and she wasn’t about to invite a headache of similar proportions trying to pin down what she and Widowmaker were now.

As her shoulders fell in disappointment, Lena looked up and out over the horizon, watching as the city slowly shook off the cover of night and prepared for the new day. As she turned to go inside however, movement slightly above eye level on the horizon caught her eye. She squinted a bit, trying to bring the object into focus, and Lena could have sworn for a moment that she thought she was looking at a helicopter. Just then, the object moved behind cloud cover, and was lost to her sight.

She sighed and shook her head, and the beginnings of a small smile began to pull at the corners of her lips. By the time she had brought her had back up completely, Lena’s trademark grin was back in full force. She had seen something in Widowmaker last night, something that no one else, not even the assassin herself, had believed was there, and for now that was enough. They would meet again someday, and Lena, for one, couldn’t wait.

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Widowmaker sat in the helicopter, looking down as they passed above the outskirts of London. As per her usual modus operandi, she did not say a word to the pilot upon her return, and for her part the pilot did not notice anything unusual about the assassin’s behavior to be reported back to Talon leadership, so the take-off got underway in silence. As their route brought them parallel to the city’s skyline, Widowmaker looked out of her window towards the taller buildings of downtown London.

Even from this distance, she was almost certain that she could make out the red sandstone tower that she had dropped Tracer off in just a few short hours ago. She wondered if the girl was still fast asleep, or if she had wakened at this point. What was she thinking in this moment? “ _I don’ believe that! I may not have been able to save Mondatta…an’ if I’m bein honest I don’t know if I’ve got what it takes to save you either…but what kind of hero would I be if I didn’t try!”_ Widowmaker smiled ever so slightly at the memory, and whispered to no one “ _You are certainly free to try, cherie_ ”.

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_Breathe in, breathe out  
Let the human in…_

 

_END_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> I'm already working on another one-shot that will be acting as an epilogue to this one...though I won't go into too many details here about what the overall plot will be I will say that it's going to be from Widowmaker's perspective, so I want to have that up within the next few days! I just really enjoy the challenge of trying to write her character as true to form as possible while still showing growth as the story goes on (because let's be honest, none of us are really buying into that whole 'I feel no emotions' shtick right?)
> 
> Unfortunately it has been awhile since I was last in a French class, so google translate was my co-pilot for the bits of it that I dabbled in, the translations are as follows:
> 
> "Oh, mon dieu! Oui, ça y est, ne vous avisez pas arrêter!” - "Oh, my god! Yes, that's it, don't you dare stop!"  
> "Merde..." - "Shit..."  
> "Tais-toi!" - "Shut up!"  
> "Non, fille naïve" - "No, naive girl"  
> "quelle absurdité" - "what nonsense"
> 
> The last two lines in italics at the end of the story are lyrics, the song is called "Human" by Of Monsters and Men, and it had come up on shuffle around the time that I had the unfortunate keyboard-head-smacking-out-pours-the-angst accident. Those particular lines in the chorus just really stuck in my mind with the overall tone of the fic, so that's my way of giving that song a bit of a shout out (also the title is a lyric from the same song...because basically music and fandom for me always end up going hand in hand)
> 
> I'll definitely be doing more with these two in the future, maybe some of the other OW pairings as well, and things for other video game related fandoms so I'm pretty psyched about that. Feel free to drop me a line on my blog (vlka-fenryka.tumblr.com) if you have any requests for things you'd like to see down the road, general commentary, or if you just feel like talking to a gay nerd who spends way too much time playing games and obsessing over fictional gays!


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